Why didn't you delete it? he would ask himself later. Because deleting felt like erasing a crime. Because keeping it felt like having proof. Because he was frozen.
The command was simple. Muscle memory. For someone else.
cp /tmp/4chan_thread_8472391.html ~/archive/september/
He looked at the ThinkPad's screen. A DM appeared in his ancient IRC client—one he hadn't opened in years. A single line:
